


Aureate

by immistermercury



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (get that bread, Bartenders, Drunken Flirting, I guess), M/M, a brilliant novel if you haven't read it, a lot of drunkenness i won't lie, based on the beginning of giovanni's room, if you love nonchalant freddie you'll love thi, implied sex but nothing graphic, it's lighthearted i promise, jim basically offends him until his friend steps in, they're both milking older men for money, this is all pretty fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-08 03:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/pseuds/immistermercury
Summary: “I can’t say I’d noticed him.” Jim replied, carefully unfazed.“I refuse to believe that for one minute, darling.” Henri leaned over and squeezed his hand. “Why don’t you buy him a drink?”“I’m sorry?” Jim replied. “Why would I buy him a drink?”Henri rolled his eyes; Jim was persistent in this façade, the promise of a girlfriend on holiday, but he’d seen the appreciative drag of his eyes over the male torso one too many times to wholly believe him. “Call it a favour.” He grinned. “I can’t invite him over, can I? That’s far too obvious. Just buy him a drink.”“Tell me when to leave, then.” Jim rolled his eyes and watched as the barman walked over to their table.“Anything more, gentlemen?” He asked, voice smooth and rich as butter. “Or are you happy as is?”“Same again.” Jim looked up almost lazily, meeting eyes with the barman for the first time. The barman nodded courteously, balancing their glasses between elegant fingers, and it took Jim four seconds to give in to Henri. “Barman?” He called again.“Yes, sir?” He turned around to look at him again, his gaze intense but warm.“May we buy you a drink?” He asked, glancing at Henri.
Relationships: Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	1. Barman

**Author's Note:**

> I know Giovanni's Room is a sad book hence why I went massively off-script as soon as they got back to Freddie's but I just couldn't stop thinking about this when I was reading it!

The best way to make friends, Jim had been taught, was to find yourself in a seedy bar at gone eleven o’clock with an older man buying you drinks; he stayed at the level of friendly courtesy, fluttering his eyelashes just enough to keep the whiskey flowing, just far enough away to still seem available. He’d been in the company of the man for a few weeks, eating at expensive French restaurants, drinking expensive French wines, reclining long into the night with cigarette after cigarette burning between fingers elegantly held over the edge of the expensive leather sofa, keeping him tantalisingly close yet far enough that there was no real expectation of anything more blossoming between them.

Jim had been asking for money again, and it was the least that he could do to humour the man by accepting drinks in his hospitality. His company was vulgar at the best of times, too many leering comments about the men walking nearby them, drawing attention to the real reason they were both there, but he gave Jim a reason to scan the room, half girls in too much makeup, half rent-boys.

They frequented this place a little too much to be respectable, despite his thousands of pounds that crept their way into Jim’s pocket, and they knew the faces well. Lazaro ran the bar, flirting a little too much and a little too often with Henri even when he had an arm around Jim’s waist, flaunting the Irishman as a little piece of exoticism. 

Today, though, the face behind the bar was new, and Henri was more interested than ever.

“What do you think?” He asked, filling up Jim’s glass again.

“Think of what?” He bluffed.

“The barman, darling!” He leaned in. “He’s awfully lovely, isn’t he?”

The sound of his voice almost sent shivers down his spine. “I can’t say I’d noticed him.” He replied, carefully unfazed.

In reality, though, he had noticed him, had noticed every little thing about him. He’d noticed his long hair, the way it curled down in his face as he poured glasses of red wine, the calm confidence as he lazily made his way between tables, collecting glasses and taking orders with a wry smile that promised that he was above every single person that chose to spend a Wednesday evening in that bar. He’d noticed how beautifully red his lips were, how lazy and beautiful his voice was, sleepy and gorgeous, and how beautiful his dark eyes were.

“I refuse to believe that for one minute, darling.” Henri leaned over and squeezed his hand. “Why don’t you buy him a drink?”

“I’m sorry?” Jim replied. “Why would I buy him a drink?”

Henri rolled his eyes; Jim was persistent in this façade, the promise of a girlfriend on holiday while he got on his feet in a new city, but he’d seen the appreciative drag of his eyes over the male torso one too many times to wholly believe him. “Call it a favour.” He grinned. “I can’t invite him over, can I? That’s far too obvious. Just buy him a drink.”

“Tell me when to leave, then.” Jim rolled his eyes and watched as the barman walked over to their table to collect glasses. 

“Anything more, gentlemen?” He asked, voice smooth and rich as butter. “Or are you happy as is?”

“Same again.” Jim looked up almost lazily, meeting eyes with the barman for the first time. The barman nodded courteously, balancing their glasses between elegant fingers, and it took Jim four seconds to give in to Henri. “Barman?” He called again.

“Yes, sir?” He turned around to look at him again, his gaze intense but warm.

“May we buy you a drink?” He asked, glancing at Henri.

The corners of his mouth turned up in an opulent smile and he took a few steps back towards the bar. “I do not drink while I work, sir.” He replied. “But for you, red wine, and for myself, a Coca-Cola.”

Jim found himself moving closer, almost hypnotised, and watched as the barman poured the drinks. He then leaned against the bar, chin poised in the palm of his hand, and sent Jim such a dazzling smile that he felt his resolve begin to crumble. He looked around quickly for Henri, cursing internally when he saw him talking to Lazaro at the back of the bar, casting a glance enviously at Jim.

He had to finish what he’d started.

“You are English?” The barman asked, focusing his attention in on Jim. For some reason, he hadn’t anticipated a conversation between them, he’d anticipated the excuse of busyness, but now he was almost crawling under the attention he was receiving.

“Irish.” Jim couldn’t help a smile. “You aren’t English, are you?”

“No.” He chuckled, grabbing a rag to wipe down the sticky bar top. “I’m from Zanzibar.”

“Zanzibar?” He echoed unsurely.

“Africa, sir. East coast.” He pushed a curl from his face and Jim’s eyes watched the movement intensely. “I am new to London.”

“How new is new?” Jim questioned. “You sound new.”

“Very new.” He turned away, hiding a grin as he reached for a glass. “My English is not - how do you say? Very confident.”

Jim could’ve given him a thousand compliments in place of that - the confident sway of his hips made up for any lack of confidence in his voice, for starters - but he was interrupted when he burst out laughing. “God, I’m fucking with you. I’ve been here for about a year.” He turned back to Jim, still laughing. 

Jim’s cheeks flushed; he’d been completely convinced by his act, and he couldn’t believe he’d been outsmarted by a bartender in such a place. “A- a year?”

“Oh, I hope I didn’t disappoint you, darling!” He smiled. “I know oh-so-many of you guys love the whole exotic thing, that why Lazaro hired me in the first place.”

“No, no, I-” Jim sipped his drink, pretending to be more confident than he really was. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“That’s good to know.” He sighed happily. “I am actually from Zanzibar, though. I wasn’t kidding you that far.”

“Not very liberal, is it?” Jim asked, trying to re-establish himself; he craved control over the situation, over a bartender in a seedy bar in the wrong area of Soho. With three thousand pounds in his pocket, he should have had more than enough not to be outsmarted by those witty jokes.

“Liberal?” He arched an eyebrow. “Depends on what you think of English society, I suppose.”

“I’m surprised you’re so comfortable.” Jim said suggestively, picking up a straw and twiddling it between his fingers. 

“Comfortable?” He echoed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’re a little obvious, darling.” Jim mocked his voice just a little. 

“Please.” The barman finished his drink and Jim felt a little bereft; he didn’t want to end their conversation on such a note. “Don’t think you’re subtle.”

Jim’s cheeks coloured and he drained his glass of wine. He was thankful when Henri came over, resting his hand on Jim’s shoulder and giving him a squeeze. “How are we,  _ garçon?” _

“I think I’ve just about managed to offend the bartender on every level.” He commented. “Time you dove in.”

“Oh, darling!” He laughed and sat beside him. “Barman, pour us your favourite!”

“My favourite?” He turned back to them, laughing. “Darling, champagne for you and a lemon juice for the Irishman!”

“Oh, I’ll pay you more to sweet talk him, darling!” He chuckled.

“The Irish, they’re resolute.” He winked. “I could pour him a strawberry daiquiri and serve it with a kiss and he’d fend me off backhand.”

“He’s not so sour.” Henri slung an arm around Jim’s shoulder. “He needs a little warming up, that’s all.”

“What do you think I am? Some kind of rent-boy?” He laughed.

“Oh, no!” He said quickly, cheeks colouring. “It’s just-”

“I have others to serve.” His smile was coquettish as he turned away. “Decide what you want from me by the time I return.”

* * *

It was five in the morning by the time they were all piled into a cab on the way back to Ealing; Jim was more than a little drunk, pressed up against Henri, and Lazaro had his arm around the barman, whispering in his ear. He occasionally caught the eye of the man opposite him, snuggled into the embrace with some semi-ironic smile on his face, as though he was tolerating the old men just long enough for them to pay the taxi fare home.

“Where exactly are we going, darling?” Henri asked, his lips practically pressed to Jim’s temple; he was a little too drunk to fend him off. 

“I’m taking the beautiful Irishman home, of course.” The barman chuckled. “As for you, you can do whatever you’d like.”

“Where’s home?” He pressed on.

“A maid’s room over in West Ealing.” He lolled his head back on Lazaro’s shoulder. “The rent’s cheap.”

“And the maid?” Lazaro chuckled.

“Long gone.” He laughed.

Jim leaned over and nudged him with his foot. “What’s your name?” He asked, yawning a little. 

“I haven’t decided.” He replied with a lazy smile. “Freddie for now.”

“Freddie.” He tried to roll the r in the same way as Freddie had, but failed miserably. 

Henri winked at Lazaro and squeezed Jim a little. “Where we right now?” He asked.

Freddie glanced out the window and yawned. “Hammersmith. Ten minutes or so.”

* * *

Jim woke up at three in the afternoon, his head on someone else’s pillow, and someone else’s head against his chest. His head pounded, and his mouth tasted foul, and his body ached as though he’d been up for the whole night; his memory was hazy after the bartender had started pouring them shots.

The bartender who was now, somehow, fast asleep against his chest. 

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, reaching blindly into the nightstand for some tablets or some water or something to alleviate his headache; instead, he got empty condom wrappers and a sticky lube bottle leaking over his fingers. 

At least that answered one of his questions.

He wiped off his hand and lay back on the pillows, running his newly-cleaned fingers over the bare back of the man on top of him. He cursed himself for getting into this situation again, another night of passion, another night of pretending that he was single and pretending that he was comfortable with who he was. At the same time, though, he questioned whether it was really that bad when the man on top of him - what was his name again? - yawned and propped himself up on one elbow.

“Morning.” He said roughly, glancing up at the clock and chuckling sleepily. “Or should I say afternoon?”

“Afternoon.” Jim murmured, rubbing his forehead.

“Need something for your head? You were pretty hammered after about midnight.” The barman planted a kiss on his cheek and stood up; Jim’s cheeks warmed at the sight of bruises on his hips in the shape of his fingertips.

“That’d be good.” He yawned. “Are you okay?”

He sent a wicked smile over his shoulder as he reached for a glass by his sink and retrieved some painkillers. “You went hard on me last night, darling. I won’t be sitting on anything hard today, that’s for sure.”

Jim sent him a rather sheepish smile. “Sorry?” He said meekly as the barman walked back over to the bed, kneeling on the soft mattress and handing him the water and the tablets. 

“Sorry?” He laughed. “Oh, I love a man that knows how to manhandle me.”

“It’s a good job, apparently.” Jim smiled and took the tablets.

“I doubt you remember anything I said last night, so I’ll remind you. I’m Freddie, I’m twenty-six, and I’m definitely not a rent-boy.” He winked at him.

Jim’s cheeks coloured again; he couldn’t imagine what he’d accused him of while drunk. “God, I’m sorry.” He bit his lip. “What the hell did I say?”

“It was less you, more the old man you were with. Kept suggesting I needed to warm you up some.” He took his water bottle from the side and took a long drink. “What’s his deal?”

“Same as yours with Lazaro, I think.” Jim reached up and held an arm out for him. “Rich old man?”

“Lazaro gave me a job, darling, I just won’t say how.” He lay back beside him. “That sounds so bad. I didn’t, like- do anything like that. I just flirted my way in.”

“Abusing the hospitality of old men.” Jim looked at the wad of cash on the counter that Henri had given him the evening before. “You wouldn’t be the only one.”

“You know, you didn’t spend a penny of that last night. He paid every single pound for you.” Freddie whistled. “Impressive. I could learn a trick or two.”

“He’s lonely, he pays for company.” Jim shrugged. “In a roundabout kind of way. I think one day he thinks we’ll make love.”

“Make love.” Freddie echoed. “Romantic. Is that what you did to me?”

“Honestly, I doubt it.” Jim ruffled his fingers through his curls. “I probably fucked you like some kind of animal.”

“Hey, at least you’re honest.” Freddie laughed. “I don’t mind, darling. You know how often people buy me drinks? It’s a nice change.”

Jim hooked a finger under his chin and pulled him into a kiss. “I wasn’t going to buy it for you, you know. Henri wanted you, but he said you wouldn’t come over if he asked you, and then Lazaro got in the way.” He kissed him again, slow and lazy. “I’m straight.”

Freddie laughed and rolled onto his front to kiss him deeper. “Apart from when you were sixteen and you found yourself in the bed of a boy you never intended to fall in love with?”

“Something like that.” He let his fingers trail over his bare body and hummed. “I was eighteen, though. I was eighteen and travelling Italy and I fell in love with a guy in a gelato parlour.”

“I was sixteen.” Freddie laughed. “I was sixteen and living in Zanzibar and I fell in love with the boy in my art class. I was his first kiss and he was my first time.”

“Surprisingly sweet.” Jim yawned. “So, how long until you kick me out?”

“What time are we on now?” He questioned.

“Half three.” He squeezed his waist.

“I’ll kick you out in an hour and a half, then.” He grinned. “Take a good look around if you want to come back.”

“Why?” He asked, unable to keep his hands off his lover’s body. 

“It’s the first test, of course. Do you care enough to find me again?” Freddie knelt up in bed and stretched, as though he was just teasing him with everything he’d miss otherwise. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon.”

Jim smoothed a hand over his chest, treating himself to thick chest hair and the gorgeous v of those hips. “I’m sure you will.” He promised.


	2. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such an unsatisfying ending so I'm gifting you one more chapter.

The drink, by his standards, could’ve been far worse - when Henri had called for Freddie to bring them a bottle of the best in the house, he’d expected something awful, something thousands of pounds or else tasting like rat’s piss as a fucked up kind of joke - but he still found himself staring into the glass, swirling the murky red liquid as an excuse to avoid eye contact with either of the men seeking to catch his eye at every upwards glance.

“What’s he like, then?” Henri leaned in and lowered his voice below the din of the bar. “Good?”

Jim couldn’t hide the look of disgust from his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He muttered. 

Henri scoffed. “You don’t have to pretend that you’re such a saint, you know?”

Jim arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Are you frightened of what happens between your fucking legs every time you see a man that happens to take your fancy?” He sneered. “You give me such a look of contempt because you think I’m some sad, old, lonely man, and maybe I am, but at least I’m not a coward.”

“I give you a look of contempt because you’re fucking despicable.” He muttered. 

“Because I fuck younger men?” He asked bluntly. “Because I don’t mind paying for it? Because I’m not a fucking prude?”

“Because you’re a shallow bastard.” He spat. 

“You’re going to break that fucking boy’s heart, but you won’t even care because you’re ice.” He snapped. “You’ll bring that girlfriend in here without telling him and you’ll flaunt her to the whole room just to fucking prove that you can be normal, and you won’t even think about how he feels, being fucked and then thrown aside like some kind of toy because you can’t make your fucking mind up.”

“I did not fuck him!” He replied, though his cheeks flamed with shame at the lie. “You’re fucking obsessed with sex, it’s all you think about!”

“You’ve practically undressed him five times over just by looking at him.” He muttered, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

_ “Monsieur-”  _ Freddie addressed Henri, resting a hand on his back. “Sir, please.” He addressed Jim this time. “I simply can’t have you leave without making up.”

Jim scowled at him but Henri softened under his gaze. “It’s got nothing to do with you.” Jim said firmly. 

“I believe it has everything to do with me.” He winked. “There’s more than enough of me to share, gentlemen.”

Jim mouthed helplessly for a moment, while Henri let out a dark little chuckle and wound an arm around Freddie’s waist; he pressed a kiss to his cheek and Freddie fluffed up with pride. He leaned up to his ear, ghosting his lips over his skin teasingly, and whispered, “I do believe you need to pay for the wine before you leave, sir.”

Henri tucked a fifty in his back pocket and then handed him the money for the wine. “You spoil me.” He winked, waltzing over to the table where Jim was. “Why are you angry with me, baby?” He pouted, all pink lips and sad eyes, over-exaggerated.

Jim knocked back another glass of wine. “Don’t call me that.” He spat.

“Something’s ruffled your feathers.” He sat opposite him and leaned on his hand. “What’s the matter, baby?”

Jim growled and stood up, shoving Freddie back against the wall. “I can’t tell if you’re going to fuck me or punch me.” Freddie commented idly.

Jim gripped his jaw and kissed him, his heart beating hard in his chest; he hated how much he wanted him, how much he wanted to touch him and how much he loved the feeling of his body against his own-

“Hey!” A man grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away. “Knock it off, man, fucking hell.”

“Don’t be a fucking bigot.” Jim spat.

“I don’t give a fuck who you’re kissing, I just care that you fucking threw yourself at him.” He argued, rearing up for a fight.

“I’m quite alright, darling.” Freddie brushed off his work shirt and grinned. “No need to fall out, now. I can’t control a brawl in this place.”

Jim sat down at his table again. “Get me another bottle of this.”

Freddie arched an eyebrow at his tone but moved back to the bar regardless, taking the empty glasses with him; Jim watched him whenever he wasn’t looking, appreciating the curve of his body as he reached for the bottle from the shelf behind him. He came back over and placed the bottle at the table, undoing the cap with expert efficiency and pouring Jim a fresh glass. “Are you going to tell me why you’re being an asshole, or are you just going to assault me until you feel better?” He asked bluntly.

Jim looked up at him, the beautiful dark eyes and the quirked brow, and he let out a long sigh. “I love you.” He said quietly.

For once, Freddie was speechless. “Excuse me?” He murmured.

“I love you!” He said exasperatedly. “What more do you want from me?”

Freddie broke out into a smile and sat himself in Jim’s lap, kissing his cheek. “What do I want from you?” He mused, taking Jim’s wine glass and sipping it slowly. “You can start by slowing down with this. I’m not have you practically blacking out on me during sex again.”

Jim’s cheeks flushed and Freddie laughed, finishing off the glass. “I finish at five in the morning, so you’ve got a while to freshen up if you want to.” He winked.

* * *

The taxi ride was quieter this time; without the other men, without his own drunkenness, Jim found himself easily occupied by trailing his fingers up and down Freddie’s arm and watching the goosebumps rise on his skin. 

Freddie glanced up at him tiredly and smiled. “I’m cold.” He pouted. “I wish I had a scarf like you.”

Jim unwound the scarf from around his neck and draped it gently over Freddie’s shoulders. “Is that better?” He asked gently, petting his fingers over Freddie’s neck.

“Much, thank you.” Freddie leaned up to kiss his lips lightly. “I think I prefer you sober.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to say that.” He mused. “You prefer me being soft?”

“You’re nice and gentle.” Freddie closed his eyes when his fingers trailed the skin on his cheek. 

“You’re so pretty.” He murmured, kissing his lower lip softly. “I love you.”

Freddie grinned, his cheeks turning pink. “Too fucking right you do.” He kissed him back and settled down against his chest. “Why did you shove me against the wall?”

“I didn’t like how Henri was touching you.” He admitted. “I didn’t like that he was allowed to and I wasn’t.”

“You were always allowed. You were the first one.” He tilted his chin up as his fingers lightly skimmed his throat, his Adam’s apple, and Freddie shivered at how light the touch was. 

“The first one?” He asked.

“The first one to look at me like that. First person to look after me like that.” He murmured.

“I bruised you.” Jim let his fingers trail down his chest to his hips. “I hurt you.”

“You got my knees the worst.” He murmured. “I’m never getting on my knees for you again.”

“Do I need to put down a cushion for you next time?” He said teasingly, squeezing his hip. “Go easy on you?”

Freddie’s gaze darkened and he smiled, realising the game they were playing. “No.” He murmured. “Don’t go easy on me.”

Jim leaned close to his ear, lips brushing his skin lightly. “Then get on your fucking knees.”

* * *

Freddie opened his eyes slowly to the sight of Jim beside him and smiled; he sat up gingerly and traced some of the fresh bruises on his body. He was one of those men, so tough, who liked everything as rough as it could be - Freddie hadn’t had many lovers like that before. He ran a hand down his arm, down his leg, over the fresh bruises on his hips and the curve of his ass, feeling how hot the skin was to touch and immediately shivering with the sensuality of his own fingers-

“Aloe vera.” Jim murmured sleepily, holding out an arm for Freddie. “Come back.”

He smiled and lay down next to him, squeaking with surprise when Jim pulled him closer. “What time is it?” He whispered.

“No idea. Maybe midday.” He stroked his fingers through Freddie’s hair. “I think we fell asleep around eight.”

Freddie groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. “I don’t want to go to work.” He whined.

“Then don’t.” Jim laid his head on top of Freddie’s and smiled. “Lazaro won’t fire you.”

“You’re probably right.” Freddie admitted. “But that’s abusing my old man’s hospitality.”

“I’m sure you’ve done more than enough for him.” Jim chuckled. 

“He took me to the beach a few weeks ago.” Freddie wrapped his arm around Jim’s waist, revelling in all the skin he got to feel. “It was a nice date. I enjoyed it.”

“A date?” Jim echoed.

“We lay out on sun loungers and kissed and he bought me ice cream. I’d call that a date.” Freddie smiled. “Maybe my standards are low.”

“Bastard got to take you out first.” He murmured.

“Don’t flatter yourself, darling.” Freddie sat up in bed and yawned. “He only wanted an excuse to fuck me.”

“Did he?” Jim asked seriously.

“I seem to have to keep reminding you that I’m not a fucking rent-boy.” Freddie quirked an eyebrow and stood up. “You can’t just pay for my time.”

“Baby, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.” Jim reached for him. “Come back to me.”

Freddie waltzed out of the way of his hands and grinned. “I’m going to get ready for work. Get out of my house.” He announced.

“Are you serious?” Jim asked, a little dumbfounded.

“Of course I’m serious.” He stood proudly naked in the middle of his bedroom, smirking at the sight of the man in his bed. “You know where I live, don’t you?”


	3. Extortion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was always a possibility; a service came with a price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating so many random fics right now omg

He knew Freddie’s schedule better than his own; as he lay beside blonde girls in lingerie, as he tucked fifties into the waistbands of exotic dancers, as he allowed Henri to press kisses down the long column of his throat, he would trace the footsteps of his boy. He set off for work on foot, down to Ealing Broadway, no matter the cold weather - these days, he often had a scarf of Jim’s wound around his neck - and then it would be being jostled on the District line to Hammersmith, and the Piccadilly to Leicester Square. He’d slip into the back streets of Soho, through the back doors of the bar at nine o’clock, and then he’d work through until five in the morning.

Freddie had given him a key as soon as Jim had mentioned the word  _ boyfriend  _ to him, though it was more a loop around his little finger to keep him close, close enough that they would live together in their shame, close enough that Freddie wouldn’t risk slipping up and telling the wrong person. 

He shoved his key in the lock - the matron of the house hated him, could never manage a smile in his direction, yet he’d paid Freddie’s rent three times and he’d made sure that she knew about it - before he walked the four flights of stairs to Freddie’s room, hoping for just a little moment of quiet away from the rest of the world. Before he could unlock the door to Freddie’s room, however, the door swung open.

Freddie was crying, almost hysterical, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand that sloshed dangerously as he fell straight into his lover’s arms.

“Woah-” Jim wrapped his arms around him, comforting him as though he was a child. “Freddie, what happened?”

“He’s such a- a- a bastard!” He shouted, slumping in his arms.

“Okay-” He hoisted him up by the waist, supporting him as he stumbled back into his room and onto the bed. He took his whiskey and swallowed it down in one, almost grinning at Freddie’s indignant gasp. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me what happened. Did you even go to work?”

“Lazaro fired me!” He threw himself back on the bed. “And he made a fucking spectacle of me.”

“Start at the beginning.” He insisted, and Freddie took a few swallows of whiskey from the bottle before he started. 

“I went there, and he was fucking drunk.” Freddie spat. “I was eating some of the bar food because I was fucking hungry, because he pays shit and I can’t fucking afford a week’s worth of food. But I was cleaning, and he shouted at me to go upstairs, and I fucking hate it when he’s in one of those moods but I did it anyway. And he just berated me because he’d lost some money in the tills, money that I don’t have because otherwise I might have something in the fridge and not be totally reliant on you and eating the shitty sandwiches he keeps in the kitchen-” He took another swallow of whiskey. “And anyway, I saved because people started coming into the bar, so I went downstairs to serve, but he must’ve been doing fucking shots or something.”

Jim took the bottle off of him and put it on top of the half-open suitcase that cluttered up the room. “And then?” He prompted, ignoring Freddie’s scowl.

“He came downstairs and he started yelling at me, right in front of everybody in the bar, and they all went silent. And he called me a thief, and a liar, and a whore, and he told everybody that I was a fucking rent-boy and he’s the only person this side of London who would dare to give me a job at the risk that I was soliciting his customers.” He rolled his eyes angrily. “And he grabbed the cash out of the till and shoved at it at me, because he said that it was better to give it to me because I’d just steal it anyway.”

Freddie seized the empty glass on the nightstand and threw it at the wall in fury. “He’s a snide fucking bastard and I hate him!”

“How much money did he give you?” Jim asked.

“God, it’s always fucking money, isn’t it?” Freddie snapped and stood up angrily, clenching his fists. “I’m just another fucking wallet to you!”

“You’re a prissy little bitch right now.” Jim commented idly, lighting a cigarette. “Calm down.”

Freddie glowered at him and snatched the box from his hand, taking his own and lighting it with shaking fingers. “It was only the beginning of the night, so it was only about two hundred.”

Jim took the bills from him and flicked through them. “Well, you’re not flush, but it’s not the worst you could have.”

“I have two hundred pounds, no job, a room I can’t afford and a boyfriend who seems to be incapable of understanding that not all of us can just phone daddy.” He scowled. “Either of them.”

“Come on, baby.” Jim stood up and wound his arms around Freddie from behind, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “Don’t say things you don’t mean just because you’re drunk.”

Freddie was so easy, sometimes, easy to read and easy to mould; he softened in Jim’s arms and sighed. “Everyone acts like I’m a fucking rent-boy just because I’m pretty.” He murmured. “Sometimes I feel like I am. You fuck me and throw money at me, and I know you fuck other people, I know you don’t really give a fuck about me.”

“If I didn’t give a fuck, why would I have come to this shitty room just to see you?” He asked.

“Why does it sound like you’re trying to put me down every single time you open your mouth?” He asked bluntly. “It’s like you’re always trying to remind me that this situation is shit. It’s your power, your control, you know that I’m out on my fucking arse and you’ve got enough money from your old man to keep me comfortable as long as I shut up and do what you want. Well, you can get fucked.” He spat.

“I’m failing to sweet talk you, aren’t I?” Jim’s voice took on a new warmth and he pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Don’t be sour, baby.”

“What is there to be happy about?” He sat heavily on his bed and put his head in his hands. “I’m going to have to move to fucking Liverpool if I ever want a job again.”

“What about a different kind of job?” Jim suggested, winding a curl around his finger. “When was the last time you ate, baby?”

“Peanuts at the bar, and then Lazaro paid for lunch yesterday.” He hugged his knees to his chest. “I’m fucking starving.”

“You can’t eat on a bartender salary, hm?” He kissed his cheek. “I’ll take you out for dinner, how about that? And we can talk about jobs there.”

“So you can throw more money at me?” He huffed. 

“So I can know you’ve eaten a decent meal in the last few weeks, you stubborn bastard.” Jim teased. “Come on, let me buy you something nice.”

* * *

“This is ridiculous!” Freddie yelled, struggling against the handcuffs. “This is absolutely fucking stupid, let me go!”

“Calm down, Farrokh.” The voice was teasing, and the grin was smug. 

“Fuck you.” He spat back, falling back in a chair when he was pushed. “Nobody’s even told me what this is about.”

“Oh, it’s too many big words for you and your little accomplice. I doubt you’ve got a year’s education between you.”

“What?” He asked, face like thunder.

“You’re the poor whore, and he’s the spoiled rich kid.” He rolled his eyes. “The word is extortion, sweetheart. Extortion and theft. Extorting vast amounts of wealth from a man who had only your best interests at heart.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” He spat. “He paid me fuck all, I barely scraped three fucking pounds an hour, and that’s with tips. I hardly made anything in that job.”

“And yet hundreds upon hundreds of pounds disappeared from the till every week.” He clasped his fingers together and arched an eyebrow.

“He threw money at any boy who was willing to spread his legs.” Freddie muttered.

“And you’re a fucking rent-boy, darling. You expect me to believe that the-” He grabbed the money from Freddie’s pocket and flicked through each bill. “Hundred and twenty, you got that all honestly?”

“He gave it to me!”

“He gave it to you.” He nodded sarcastically. “And you didn’t fulfil your side of the deal, darling.”

* * *

Jim rested his bound arms on the table and inspected his hands for a moment. “What exactly is this about?”

“A plot to extort, manipulate and thieve a great deal of money from an honest man. We have reason to believe that you and Freddie extorted him out of several thousand pounds in the last few months.” He explained calmly.

“Me?” Jim frowned in confusion. “Oh, no. Lazaro was Freddie’s.”

“How did you know who I was talking about?”

“He fired Freddie for stealing money from the tills. I don’t know if he did it, but that’s what he accused him of.” He shrugged, staying very calm, level-headed, straight. “My gentleman is Henri Jacques, he owns J Sheekey in Covent Garden, and I can promise he’s very happy with the service he pays for.”

“And what service would that be?” He asked, sitting on the table to the side of him.

“I call it company and kisses.” He replied smoothly. “Anything above the waist goes.”

“Most men aren’t so open about this, you know?”

“What’s the point in lying? I’m sure you’ll find it out anyway.” He smiled. “You’re all awfully good at searching for your truths.”

“So how much time have you spent with Freddie and Lazaro?” He asked curiously.

“Freddie’s my boy.” He said honestly. “The way it works, we have gentlemen, but we’re also allowed boys that are closer to our age. Generally, your gentleman is for fun and money, and your boy is who you’re more serious with. The gentlemen can do a similar thing, so Henri and Lazaro, they’re close, and that’s how I met Freddie.”

“So you’re serious with him?” He checked.

“He’s more serious than I am.” He grinned. “But he’s good company when I’m in the mood, so I keep him around. I think he likes having some stability in his life.”

“That’s interesting to note.” He nodded. “For now, you’re still under arrest, but if you want to call your gentleman, I’m sure he’ll buy you out.”

“How much?” He asked hopefully.

“Five hundred.”

“Oh, pocket change.” He grinned. “Give me the phone.”


	4. Dry Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Routine and repetition.

Days had collapsed into weeks, weeks of sleepless nights in a tiny room with the sheets still stained with whiskey and sweat, weeks of refusing to sleep in a clean bed when he could be surrounded by the musk of geranium and gin. He had pieced that room back together, the walls that they had committed their sins between, the ceiling and the floor that had swallowed his guilt and the noises of his pleasure, the door that had been slammed in his face in a fit of rage more than a few times - he had pieced together socks that had lost their partners and stuffed them back in suitcases. The suitcases had been shoved under the bed; the sheets smoothed and fluffed and tidied; he’d washed up crystal glasses, festering with drinks abandoned; he’d opened the windows to kick the smell of sex, sex between men, that had always enclosed them.

The world was much the same without him, he’d discovered. The sun still rose and sunk low beyond the horizon in the same way it had before he’d known him, and in the same way it would once he was gone. Men wanted boys, and boys wanted men, and men posed as boys, and boys posed as men; there was still the feeling of rough stubble on throats, drunken kisses with boys half his age and men twice his age. 

The bar found a new tender, a tender with dark hair and dark eyes, warm skin, crooked teeth: Lazaro wound an arm around his waist and paraded him around, forever singing his virtues, forever throwing money in his direction in the desperate hope for one eternal night. 

Henri continued to caress the curve of his arse, to slip fifties into his back pocket, and continued to mutter his lurid commentary into the curve of his left ear. 

It was the same clockwork as he’d always been caught in, perpetuating, never trying with much might to break the cycle. He insisted he’d be going home before long, he would stop sequestering money in the hands of girls to justify his own masculinity, he would go home and marry and have children and forget all about the gorgeous man he’d left loitering in a cell with too many hands going too close to a drawstring that seemed to preserve the only thing he had left-

He forced himself to stop thinking of what it meant when he lay in bed at night and missed the tickle of a man’s hair against his throat, the press of a man’s lips against his own, the feeling of a small, hard body that didn’t curve. He forced himself to detach affection and romance - he craved affection, having only had a gentleman for so long, never a boy, and craving affection didn’t mean that he would necessarily ever have a gentleman’s romance with another man. 

And, God forbid, he never let himself think about how much he craved seeing those eyes, here, in his room, his awful, damp, festering, cluttered room. He would never think again how nice it would be to be in Freddie’s room again.

“I think of him, sometimes.” The smoke from his cigarette hung low around them both, enclosing them in together, shared, secret, and silent in their guilt. “I think of him in that cell. He must be awfully cold at night.”

“I’m not surprised, darling. You spent a lot of time with him.” Henri rested a soothing, drunken hand on his shoulder. “He was your boy.”

“I wonder how many people have made love to him.” He took another drag and closed his eyes heavily. “I wonder who is looking after him. I wonder if they make sure that he eats, and sleeps, too.”

“Do you think he is afraid?” Henri asked quietly. 

Jim sighed and swallowed a mouthful of warm whiskey; Lazaro’s new bartender had not thought to bring a bucket of ice as Freddie always had. “I imagine not.” He replied eventually. “He’s lost everything. He can’t go back to his family, he has no one to look after him, you won’t bail him out-”

“We’ve had this conversation.” He interrupted quickly. “I’m not spending my money on somebody who’s about to be executed for prostitution, even if he didn’t do it. That’ll just take the both of us down with him.”

“I just can’t believe he’s on prostitution charges. This whole thing started as extortion, we could’ve gotten out of that, but they’re fucking obsessed with the idea that he’s been selling sex.” He rubbed his forehead wearily. “It’s like they just- they want to knock him off.”

“You should go and visit him.” Henri dug into his wallet. “Is a thousand enough? Or do you need more?”

“More for what?” He frowned. 

“Just- make him comfortable. If he’s been being buggered by any man that wants a handful of him, he’s probably crying out for some privacy. You could- you could at least make his last few days comfortable.” He sighed. “See if you can get him a room of his own, a decent dinner, something like that.”

“He’ll just berate me for throwing more money at him.” Jim smiled wryly and stood up, picking his scarf up off the back of his chair. “God, I miss him.”

* * *

His hair was long and messy as he knelt on the floor, tearing a piece off the bread and shoving it in his mouth with the air of desperation around him. All under his nails were black with dirt; the shirt he wore was torn at the waist; his teeth had yellowed with nicotine and poor hygiene. “Thanks.” He smiled up at Jim, who could see he was missing a tooth; his voice was hoarse. “Starving.”

“I thought you probably would be.” Jim pushed the door shut behind him with the flat of his foot and sat across from Freddie. “Are you alright?”

“Alright?” Freddie gulped down half the glass of water as quickly as he could. “Yeah, I’m alright. It’s not too bad in here once you find your place.”

“What’s your place?” He asked, almost nervous to hear the answer.

“I’ve got a couple of guys. I keep them happy, they keep me safe, you know how it is. It’s almost like being out in the city centre again.” He crammed more bread into his mouth and chewed messily. “I mean, you know, they expect a bit more than a smile, but they do more in return.”

“Christ.” He sighed. “Have they said anything about..?” He trailed off.

“Wednesday.” He shrugged. “Wednesday. They haven’t said how yet.”

Jim leaned close and gently took his hands, still soft. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I can.” Freddie shrugged. “I’ve had all the time in the world to look back at everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what the hell is going on, I'm trying to do some interesting things with form and chronology - hang on in there!

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what the next chapter is but it'll be fun! Comments make me happier than anything so please drop one if you've read this!


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